


This is How The World Ends

by theappleppielifestyle



Category: The Avengers
Genre: Apocalypse, Greek gods, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, OCs - Freeform, Prophecies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 16:49:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theappleppielifestyle/pseuds/theappleppielifestyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And Steve, always Steve, Steve here at the end of the world, because of <em>course-</em></p><p>Steve’s voice like a slap, Steve’s voice like a kiss, Steve’s voice like the first taste of whiskey, Steve’s voice like bloodied knuckles grated raw, Steve’s voice like fingers ghosting over his cheekbone.</p><p>Steve’s voice, bruising, half-sobbing: <em>“-fuck, Tony, it’s not going to end like-”</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	This is How The World Ends

**_  
_**

**Now:**

_“It wasn’t-”_

People are screaming.

He can hear it: the world coming to pieces around them, buildings sagging sideways, the earth spreading ugly jaws to reveal serrated teeth.

Tony thinks back, to the soft press of Steve’s mouth, to the slick slide, to the _sorry_ and the heavy stamp of alcohol on his tongue. To the sharp bite of glass in his knuckles, like it’s in his chest, like it’s flickering and he can’t move.

To seeing Natasha smile for the first time, to Clint’s practised hand bending the twine backwards, to his father’s steely gaze and teaching him how to drink properly, to his mother’s stiff curls. To Pepper’s soft hands and hard, disappointed eyes, to Rhodey’s not-laugh and Obie’s crossed arms and Bruce’s half-hearted grin that he does when he’s tired.

The world is turning to shit outside the window.

_“Tony, you need to-”_

From here, he can see sky. From here, he can watch it end. He can watch their sky dissolve into dozens of different skies, watch it bleed and crack and finally shatter, from right where he’s sitting, with his knees pressed into the concrete.

And Steve, always Steve, Steve here at the end of the world, because of _course_ -

Steve’s voice like a slap, Steve’s voice like a kiss, Steve’s voice like the first taste of whiskey, Steve’s voice like bloodied knuckles grated raw, Steve’s voice like fingers ghosting over his cheekbone.

Steve’s voice, bruising, half-sobbing: _“-fuck, Tony, it’s not going to end like-”_

The comm cuts off and Tony’s alone, again.

He’s starting to think this is how it should be.

 

 

 

**Four days until:**

At this point, everyone is kind of semi-used to the idea that Norse gods are just going to come down and fuck shit up from time to time.

 _Greek_ gods, however-

“They are a peaceful race,” Thor frowns. “Much like ours. We once visited each other many a times, but that was before The Great Lock.”

“In _English_ , Thor,” Fury deadpans, raising a hand to rub his forehead. “Elaborate. What the flying fuck are you on about?”

From beside Thor, Clint has his bow at the ready. “Do we start shooting or not?”

“ _Desist_ ,” Thor says. “As I said, they are a peaceful race, from the realm of Delphi. I am sure they mean us no harm.” His gaze turns to the people in front of him, and he bends forwards slightly.

Tony wonders what the hell he’s doing for a second, before Thor sinks to one knee and Tony realizes he’s bowing.

He glances at Thor, then at Steve, who makes a helpless kind of gesture before following suit and getting to one knee, ducking his head.

Tony glances around, and, yep, almost everyone is down on one knee- including the Hulk, which is a weird sight- and are staring nervously up at the towering people in front of them.

 _Beautiful_ isn’t the right word, but it’s the best one Tony can think of. There are two men and three women, and every one of them has bright, vivid eyes of varying colours- tides, blood, sand, all mixing in their irises, and it would be disturbing if it wasn’t so weirdly awesome. They each have sculpted, elegant, too-perfect faces with too-perfect marble skin and too-perfect waterfall hair.

The woman in the middle of them all smiles; her honeybee lips curving up like a flame. “It gladdens me to see you well, Thor. Arguard has… changed in our absence, I see.”

“Asgard?” Thor stands back up uncertainly. “This is not Asgard, your highness. We are on the planet earth, in the realm of Migard.”

The woman’s lips thin. “Migard? Thor, you must be mistaken. You know we are barred from Migard. We are barely sure how we got through the Bifro-”

“I assure you, highness,” Thor interrupts. “I know not of how you finally accessed the Bifrost from your realm, or how you got to be here. But this is most certainly Migard.”

The woman doesn’t speak for three very long seconds. When she does, her words are clipped: “Thor, we have… long feared this day. Many of us doubted it would come. Are you very sure that this is Migard?”

Thor’s frown deepens. “I am certain, highness. But to what day do you speak of?”

The woman looks at him, her perfect lips slipping into a perfect frown. “The _end_ , Thor. The end of days.”

“That,” Fury says, standing, “would be my category. Hera, is it?”

The woman’s expression turns tight. “Athena, actually. And ‘your highness’ to you, Migardian.”

Fury inclines his head, unsmiling. “Of course. Highness. But you can’t blame us if we’re a little shifty about _more_ aliens shoving their way into our damn solar system again.”

The woman- _Athena_ , and holy shit, Tony had read about her when he was a kid- stiffens, but the woman with blazing white hair by her side speaks before she can.

“I assure you, Migardian, that we come in peace. Our bifrost has been useless for centuries. We were simply walking along the bridge when we found ourselves here. And it would be _prudent_ of you,” she hisses, “to practice some _respect_ in our presence.”

The man to her left puts a hand on her arm. “Be calm, sister,” he soothes. “I am sure they meant no disrespect. And to you, Athena.”

The first woman’s lip curls upwards, but she leans back slightly. “I meant nothing by it, Apollo.” Her eyes flicker, and Tony can sort of see it: the shift, the cosmic energy inside of her. How she’s not a woman, she’s very much a _god_ \- lightning and roaring thunder, caged.

She sniffs. “They are ants to my eyes.”

“Hey,” Tony says, offended, and everyone turns to look at him, including the five Greek gods who could probably smite him with their minds and fuck, Tony has got to stop doing this shit.

Tony doesn’t think before flipping up his faceplate and giving them his famous ‘hey, I’m about to piss you off and I’m going to look good while doing it’ smile that Fury gets a lot. “Hi. Mind telling us what you’re going on about?”

“The end of days,” Thor says, and when Tony turns to him, his eyes are startlingly wide. He’s actually taken a step back. “Are you certain, Athena?”

“Thor,” Athena says. “Think about this logically. Our Bifrost is lost to us, much less other _worlds_. We have suspected this would happen in this decade, you know that. And have you felt the sky for the last day, my friend?”

Thor says, “I-” and swallows. He casts his gaze out the window. “I have. It is… worrying.”

“ _Worrying_ , indeed,” Athena inclines her head, raising a hand to rub at the dented lines in her forehead.

“Uh,” Steve says, and Athena turns her freakishly azure eyes to him. Steve- _Cap_ , Tony reminds himself, _he’s Captain America at the moment_ \- meets her gaze steadily. “Felt the sky, you said?”

“Yes,” Athena says. “It is unsettling, is it not? The way it scrapes- how it bellows like a broken boiler.”

Cap doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes, ma’am. Extremely unsettling. But I don’t see how that comes back around to the end of days.”

Athena smiles at him and Tony can’t tell whether it’s gorgeous or terrifying, how the red shock of her mouth moves like galaxies under her skin. “You have not heard of the prophecies, I presume.”

“No, ma’am.”

Natasha mouths at him, _Prophecies?_

Tony shrugs. _I don’t know._

Athena sighs. “The prophetess Pythica foretold an apocalypse, millenniums ago.”

“Lovely,” Fury says. “Another one.”

Athena turns to glare at him. “Did I _finish_ , Migardian?”

Fury looks unabashed. In front of a greek god. Gotta give the guy props. “Sorry, miss, but your story seems a little low on grist. What was that about ‘feeling’ the sky again?”

“It is screaming,” Athena frowns. “It has been for the past day and a half. You would notice if you stop and listen. It is a telling sign that you do not.”

Fury doesn’t react. “Sure. I’ll try to work on that. Incredibly sorry for interrupting you, Athena. Kindly continue.”

Athena’s glare doesn’t stop as she says, “Apollo, why don’t you tell the Migardians? You are the expert, after all.”

Tony doesn’t miss the fleeting surprise on Apollo’s face as he says, “I- of course, Athena.”

Apollo reminds Tony vaguely of Legolas out of Lord of the Rings (it’s a good movie, shut up). He has a bow slung around his shoulder, and the same cascade of white hair, like the woman who had said the ‘ant’ thing earlier- he had said ‘sister,’ so that makes sense. His eyes are a tawny brown, like the woods, like warm dirt on bare feet.

Tony strains, trying to remember who the hell his sister was in the myths. All of them seemed to be related, if not distantly. The only thing Tony remembers vividly is that Zeus had had shitloads of lovers. The guy got around.

“Ah,” Apollo starts, and coughs. “The prophet climbed out of the cave of brazen fire, a-”

His sister swats him in the ribs. “You fool, get to the actual _prophecy_. They care not about the prophet’s backstory.”

“I _am_ getting to it,” Apollo hisses, and Tony tries not to notice how Steve’s mouth quirks up.

 _Remember to cross ‘watch Greek gods fuck each other off’ off the bucket list,_ Tony notes, if he had actually put that on the list, which he hadn’t, because it’s insane.

Also, he doesn’t have a bucket list.

Apollo continues: “The writing is very old, even before my time, so it is with varying levels of accuracy.”

He’s very un-godlike, Tony realizes. Yes, he’s eerily beautiful, but the way he moved was just more _human_ than the others.

“But the part of the prophecy that we could make out was, ah.” Apollo clears his throat, ignoring how his sister snorts loudly. “It said that the dimensions will start to melt together, and that over the span of a week, the universe as we know it will end. We were not able to predict the precise date, but-”

“So, basically, we’re all fucked,” Tony says. “Awesome. I love getting fucked. Shut up, I heard it as soon as I said it,” he raises a metal finger to Clint, who blinks, feigning innocence.

Apollo grinds his teeth together. Through gritted teeth, he says, “It would be in your best interests not to _mock_ me, Migardian.”

“It would be in _your_ best interests,” Fury says, “Not to screw with the guys that are going to save your ungrateful ass. Even if Stark is a complete asshole.”

Tony blows a kiss at him, and Fury flips him off.

Apollo has gone still again, and Tony thinks, _fuck, he’s going to unleash his wrath on us, or whatever,_ but instead the bearded man who hasn’t spoken yet snaps, “What did you just call him?”

Fury rolls his eyes towards Maria, who ignores him. “An asshole.”

“Not that,” Athena says. “Stark. You called him Stark.”

Okay, _now_ Fury looks a little confused, but that’s nothing compared to what Tony’s feeling at the moment, which is combination of uneasiness, nervousness and fear that he’s going to get smote by five Greek gods.

Tony glances at Steve, who looks ready to throw himself in between Tony and said five gods if he has to, in the trademark Captain America way. Steve even shifts his arm over Tony’s, and Tony definitely doesn’t imagine the hot feel of his hand through the suit.

And even that’s nothing compared to Apollo, who is downright gaping at Tony like he’s the Holy Grail.

“You have the heart of blue,” Apollo gasps, and Tony jerks slightly.

Apollo’s breathing is actually coming quicker. “Yes- yes, how did I not see it before- the glow of your sternum, your skin of iron-”

Apollo moves forwards, and Steve- Cap- shoves in front of Tony, but Apollo drops to his knees and puts his hands past his shoulders, reaching for the floor in an unmistakable bow. Hell, this is more than a bow, he’s _hailing_ Tony.

Tony has no idea what the fuck is going on, but he’s relieved not to be smited- smote- smoted- whatever, and he’s Tony Stark, so he grins and looks around. “Well, at least _someone’s_ treating me like I deserve!”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve sighs, sounding pained. “Shut up. There’s a Greek god bowing to you.”

At that, Apollo’s head whips up. “How _dare_ you talk to the magnificent Tony Stark like a common-” he surges upwards.

Tony holds a hand out, pushing Steve back with the other. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down there, hotshot, don’t break your fist on Captain America’s jaw.”

Apollo hesitates, looking surprised, but then drops to his knees again. “I apologize, your greatness, and also to you, Captain. I knew not of your identity.”

“Uh,” Steve says, sharing a look with Tony. “It’s fine. Just, uh. Why are you bowing? You can stop, by the way,” he adds quickly, and Tony pouts at him.

Steve sends him a look that quite plainly says, _you are not making a Greek god bow to you while he talks to us._

Apollo shoves himself up onto his feet immediately. “Thank you, Captain. Should I avert my eyes from-”

“No,” Steve grimaces. “God, no. I mean, gods. I mean- how do you know about us?”

Apollo smiles slightly. “The prophecies, Captain. There have been many prophecies about the Avengers, I- I thought it would be centuries before they came to pass. May I enquire as to where the others-”

“Stop salivating, Apollo,” his sister says dryly. “They’re simple Migardians. I despair as to why you adore them so.”

“Perhaps you forgot, Artemis, but they are important to our predicament,” Apollo snaps, and Tony thinks, _oh, her. Virgin, right?_

Steve says, “Important?”

Apollo turns back to him, colour high in his cheeks, and if he wasn’t an ancient Greek god, Tony would say that he’s excited.

“Yes, Captain. There have been several translations-”

“That are more wrong than they are right,” Artemis growls.

Apollo clenches his jaw, but continues. “Several translations,” he repeats, “where the Avengers have been mentioned. They speak of your great battles against formidable enemies, like the Doom-”

“Doctor Doom?” Clint says from the other side of Steve. “Seriously? He’s not that great. How the hell do they spin stories out of him?”

Apollo half-glares at him, and Clint senses danger and raises a hand. “Hawkeye. You may have heard of me.”

Apollo looks shocked again, and then gushes. Actually _gushes_. “You- yes, I have. You are a mighty warrior. Would I be right to presume, then, that the marvellous crimson-haired woman at your side is the lady Black Widow?”

“You would,” Natasha says, her lips curling upwards, pleased. “I think that’s a pretty good description of me.”

Artemis looks her up and down disdainfully. “And the Hulked one is dead?”

“Not yet,” Bruce says, pushing forwards so he’s in her line of sight. “Bruce Banner. I-”

“The other side of the battered coin,” Apollo says. “Yes. You were Artemis’s favouri-”

“Hush, brother,” Artemis growls, whipping her head around to glare at him.

“They were childhood stories in our realm,” Athena says. “Ones I heard of as a childling. We must admit that it is an honour to meet you all. None of us expected to meet you in our lifetime.”

Tony grins. “Likewise. Well, I thought that I’d never meet you, because you were fictional, but I never expected to meet Captain America, either, so.”

“I am an Avenger, also,” Thor says, one hand still wrapped around Mjolnir. “I have not heard of any such myths.”

Apollo’s eyes widen. “You? You are an Avenger, Thor? I- yes, I could see how-”

Everyone seems to love cutting Apollo off, because Athena chooses that moment to say, “They were sacred to our realm, Thor. We did not think of you to fit the prophecies.”

“Hey, Legolas,” Fury clicks his fingers at Apollo, and Tony holds back a bark of laughter.

“Important to our predicament, you said.” Fury smiles, and then drops it. “Care to elaborate?”

Apollo twists his hands together, smiling nervously, getting less god-like by the second. “I- the prophecies-”

“Cut to it, Apollo.” The bearded man’s voice is like a whip lashing out, and Tony expects Apollo to wince.

But Apollo doesn’t even look at him. Instead, he turns to Fury. “The most famous prophecy,” he says, “Is the very one that involves the apocalypse that we are currently experiencing.”

“Huh,” Fury says. “What a cowinkiedink. Keep going.”

Apollo looks confused by ‘cowinkiedink,’ but he starts: “Uh, the prophecy goes on to say:

_There will be six hands of Migard._

_The first will be streaked with regretted blood._

_The second will be rubbed red from the twine of a bow._

_The third will be the finger that releases the arrow._

_Then the clenched fist holding barbs of lightning._

_The fifth will be the broad hand which once was glass._

_The last will be frozen wrist-deep in his own blue heart._

_They will tip their heads to the air burning around them_

_And breathe in the rain of other worlds around them_

_And they will shift the war around them_

_They will-”_ Apollo inhales sharply.“Ah, I regret to say that that’s all that I have been able to translate as of yet.”

“I,” Clint says, “Have no idea how you got us out of that. _I_ barely got us out of that.”

“I didn’t get any of you out of that,” The bearded man says.

Apollo finally looks back at him. “Ares,” he sighs, and Tony is smacked in the face with _holy shit, the god of War, we are so fucked._

Tony wants to laugh at the fucking stupidity of it.

Apollo continues: “I am aware that you can be a simpleton, but even you can get at least a few of the Avengers out of that.”

Ares pulls a face- Ares, god of war, holy fucking shit- and takes a step towards Apollo. “I think you would be wise to-”

“Ares,” Athena growls. “There are more vital things at hand than you beating Apollo into a bloody mess.”

“If there is, I know not of it.” Ares crosses his arms and his mouth twists even further down so his beard twines around it.

Apollo looks like he’s about to roll his eyes, but thinks better of it.

Athena glares at them again over her shoulder before turning to Thor. “Tell me, Thor. What of Loki?”

Thor’s eyes get that stormy quality, like they’re glassing over. “What of him?”

Athena looks slightly taken aback. “I- when we last saw you two, you seemed sewed at the hip. Is such a bond broken over the years?”

“Loki is banished from both Migard and Asgard,” Thor says dully. “The people demanded it.”

“What did he do?”

Its then that Tony notices the woman at the back, who hasn’t spoken until just now- red hair like an avalanche over her collarbones, her lips slick and rosy. Her eyes are almost a faded tone of brown, almost pink, like the underside of leaves.

And her teeth- her teeth are whittled to a point and bunched in her gums, like a shark’s. Her voice is stuck between a rasp and honey, which doesn’t make sense, but makes Tony shiver anyway.

She makes Tony think of a car crash, bruises on pale skin, train wrecks, blood running down in rivers: a terrible kind of beautiful.

The woman doesn’t look surprised as everyone stares at her. Instead, she peels her lips back to show her teeth- not a snarl, exactly, but not anything else, either. “What is Loki’s crime?”

“His crimes are too numerous to mention here,” Thor says, and, again, Tony can see the bare _god_ boil underneath him. “You have many centuries to catch up on, my friends.”

The horrifying, gorgeous woman’s eyes rake the room, her gaze like a physical punch, and stops on Tony, who feels like he’s just grabbed onto an exposed wire.

She murmurs, “It seems so.” She lowers her head respectfully, but keeps her gaze on Tony. “Aphrodite. My lord.”

 _No fucking shit. The goddess of love has shark teeth._ “Tony. Tony’s fine.”

“Tony,” Aphrodite repeats, her voice like velvet. “Yes. I remember you.” She looks at him from under her eyelashes, and smiles that slow, sharp smile, and Tony feels a trigger go off in his brain:

He feels the rough pads of Yinsen’s thumbs pushing the arc reactor into place, the heady scent of his mother’s perfume, how it hung in the air like something you wish you never said. He feels the tone of Rhodey’s sigh. He feels the world lashing past as he cuts through it like hot butter. He feels the sway of the air as he sits on the couch with the rest of the team. He feels himself shaving for the first time, how the blood had looked in the cluttered sink. He feels the wet dirt at his parent’s funeral.

He feels the calculations of Steve’s mouth when he smiles, how Natasha’s leg arcs around as she aims a kick. He feels the hot press of Steve’s mouth again, bitter with tequila, how he had stumbled.

He feels, and _feels_ , and-

He hears Steve at his side, saying his name in concern, and Tony sucks in a shaky breath and snaps out of it, and Aphrodite is still staring at him.

She breathes: “How could _anyone_ forget a heart like yours? How it burns blue in your chest.” There are planets rotating in her eyes, moons in her pupils, stars scattered around her irises.

She is the least human thing Tony has ever seen.

“You, Tony- you are so much _more_ than frozen wrist-deep.”

She’s the polar opposite to Apollo, Tony realizes: dark to light, razor to blunt, moves like a haze instead of solid matter.

Tony chokes something, he’s not sure what, feeling naked through a layer of clothing and the iron man suit, and Steve is looking between him and Aphrodite, confused.

“This prophecy,” Fury says, looking at Tony warningly, like, _don’t you fucking dare go off into a trance that the god of love may or may not have put you in just now_. “Did it happen to mention if they stop it or not? The apocalypse, that is.” He turns his eyepatch on Aphrodite. “Y’know, if everyone _forgot_.”

“Apologies,” Aphrodite purrs, stepping back. “Apollo?”

“It- may have,” Apollo says, rushed. “It was not very specific- it has aged.”

“We can have the linguistics division down here in twenty.” Fury folds his hands behind his back. “Ancient Greek isn’t that hard to decipher.”

Apollo’s brow furrows. “Ancient-? No, the prophecies are written in old Delphi.”

Fury’s expression, if possible, gets even more flat. “Of course they are.”

“There are few who speak the old language nowadays.”

“Including you, I’m guessing.”

“Not fluently,” Apollo says. “At most, I’ll be able to get a rough translation.”

“Oh, no pressure,” Clint says. “We only have a week until the end of the world. You did say a week, right?”

Tony starts to say, _three guesses who ended the world and the first two aren’t Loki_ , before he catches the sag in Thor’s shoulders and shuts up.

-

Loki breathes in the air and misses home, misses it like a physical ache, misses the golden arches and the dozen-winged swans and how the ocean twisted like it was dancing.

He grits his teeth as the salty air hits him, heavy and greasy and damp and not at all like Asgard.

His hand is slippery with blood now- _red blood, his blood has always been red, as opposed to the frost-giant’s blood, which is silver_ \- and he bends and wipes it on the hot concrete.

He breathes in the air of not-home, and tips his head back to the not-his-sky, the sky that feels so _wrong_ now that he-

He doesn’t know where he’s going, because he’s not going to Asgard, but there’s something inside him like a hook, yanking behind his navel, singing, _home, home, home_.

It sounds like a song he has long forgotten, like that wretched bed that he had to share with Thor as a childling, like the solid warmth beside him, like that old, stilting tune that his mother used to sing to him when they were restless, or when Thor couldn’t sleep because-

_Oh, the voices will sing in the blue_

_They will scoop you up so li-i-ghtly_

_And the arms will circle you most true_

_They will be there to sing bri-i-ghtly_

_They will cradle you in the blue-_

Loki remembers, with a smile that is less bitter that it should be, that as a childling, his brother had been afraid of lightning.

-

They take the Greek gods into SHIELD- and yes, Tony has thought stranger thoughts- and then the Avengers slink back ~~home~~ to the mansion.

Tony manages to avoid everyone for the first three hours, but Steve finally finds him on the roof, testing out the hydraulics for the suit.

“Tony?”

Tony has already seen him at this point, but he pretends to be surprised. “Hey, Steve. What’s up? Apollo wants to fanboy over the Brilliant Tony Stark again?”

“Ha, ha,” Steve says. “He used the term ‘admire,’ but I told him you were out.”

Tony sticks a screwdriver in between his teeth. “I am out. Roof. It counts.”

Steve sticks his hands in his pockets, sitting down on a wooden box next to Tony. “You can’t blame him for wanting to know about us. In his world- realm- uh, yeah, we’re apparently legends. As in, out of myths.”

“We are pretty awesome,” Tony grins at him around the screwdriver. “Besides, come on. It sounds cool. Six badass people saving the world on a semi-regular basis. And again, I guess, with the whole prophecy thing, if we’re the ones to do it. Hold this for me, will you?”

Steve doesn’t complain, he just takes the wrench and cranes his head to see what Tony’s working on. “What do you think will happen?”

“Fucked if I know,” Tony says, only half-concentrating. “Plague of frogs, firey skies, the ocean turns to blood, the whole shebang. I don’t know, in the Norse shit that I’ve read, the world is supposed to end when Thor’s old man turns into wolf chow.”

Steve starts flipping the wrench over in his hand, watching Tony’s fingers work. “Yeah, but Thor said the myths are more wrong than right, remember?”

“Yep,” Tony says, on autopilot.

Steve waits for a few seconds before snapping his fingers near Tony’s left ear. “Tony. Hey.”

Tony grunts.

Steve clicks his fingers a few more times. “Tony! Tune in.”

“Can’t,” Tony says. “Repulsors. Be quiet.”

He feels Steve’s hot gaze on his face, trailing down. “Tony.”

“Mm.”

“Did you come up here to avoid me?”

Tony doesn’t fumble with the screwdriver. He doesn’t. He’s used to things like this. “What? Where the hell did that come from?”

“Tony,” Steve sighs, and Tony hates himself for being the guy that makes Steve sound like that, because it’s _Steve_ , and he deserves better.

Tony sneaks a glance upwards. Steve’s wearing one of his tight t-shirts that never fails to make him stare, and Tony wants to leave, because otherwise Tony is going to kiss him, or keep _feeling_ this bullshit, because when Steve’s around it is so hard to deny it, fuck-

Steve says, “We need to talk about it.”

Tony almost says _talk about what_ , but even for him, that’s- “Talk about what?”

 _Jackass_. _You, Tony Stark, are a grade-A jackass._

Steve shifts his weight from one foot to the other, but he’s still Steve, he’s still Cap, so he keeps going. “You know what, Tony.”

Tony’s tired. He’s exhausted, really. He hasn’t slept since- since- Jesus H. Christ, he can’t even remember. “I said I was sorry, okay? I was drunk, you were there, and the rest is history.”

He doesn’t look at Steve as he walks past him- he minds his posture, making sure he doesn’t duck into his own shoulders. He’s Tony Stark, genius, billionaire playboy _whatever_ , and he puffs out his chest.

He turns to Steve, all bravado and white teeth and easy, practiced posture. “Can we just stop talking about this now? I have people to do, things to see, and no, I didn’t get those mixed up.”

“Ton-”

“Could you stop saying my name like that?”

Steve blinks. “Like what?”

Tony takes a step back, and then rocks forwards again. “Like- Steve, come on, I’m Tony Stark. You should be surprised I haven’t made a move on you sooner.”

And apparently that’s the wrong thing to say, because Steve wilts a bit.

Tony tries to backtrack: “I mean- hey, look at me.”

Tony regrets it as soon as he says it.

This is probably one of the only times Steve has looked away from him during an argument, and god knows they’ve had a few. When Steve meets his eyes, Tony feels the same thrill that had happened when Aphrodite had set something off in his mind.

He feels blonde hair under his fingers, eyes like feathers or stones or dust or _something_ good, something pure, something that shouldn’t be affiliated with him if they’re smart. His hands tingle with non-existent fingers twining through them, soft and reassuring and right in front of him, hanging at Steve’s sides.

Tony wants to run to stop himself from wanting to stay.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to stop the pounding in his head. When he opens him, Steve is looking concerned again, a crease between his eyebrows.

Tony tries: “It was- it was just a kiss, I was drunk, and I’m sorry. You’re my best friend, I don’t want-”

“I get it,” Steve cuts him off, and even after a year and a half, it still unnerves Tony how Steve looks at him when he’s talking.

For a second, Tony feels the trigger again: it’d be so easy to drag Steve in right now, to part his lips with his tongue, to run his hands over his body and make him shudder, make him gasp, make him come over his hand.

Tony thinks of the first time they had met:

Steve saying, _you had better stop pretending to be a hero._

Steve saying, _I know men worth you ten times over._

The contempt in Steve’s voice; how he had said _Mr Stark_ and Tony knew he was thinking _Howard,_ how Tony had pasted his game face on and retaliated. This, he’s used to- politicians and stockholders, punching with words instead of hands.

_I think I’d just cut the wire._

Steve’s smirk that had made Tony want to kick himself. _Always a way out._

 _Always a way out_ , Tony thinks.

-

When Steve thinks of the first time he had met Tony, he doesn’t remember the insults.

He remembers the pain in Tony’s face, the blotted bloodstain from Coulson’s back, how Tony’s voice had sounded so offended, broken, almost, on _I am not a soldier._

Steve knows now: Tony _is_ a soldier, even if he doesn’t want to be.

He is a warrior.

He is a hero.

He is a billion infuriating, brilliant things all rolled into suits and loud, bad music and easy, faked confidence, and if Steve’s feelings for him aren’t purely friendly, then that’s hardly his fault, because it’s _Tony_ , and Steve can’t-

-

That night, Tony’s walking up to his room after talking science with Bruce- the guy’s been awake for the past 36 hours trying to figure out the Bifrost, even before the Greek gods had appeared, so he’s basically swaying on his feet and had made minimal sense when Tony had been talking to him- when he runs a tongue along his teeth and remembers, _hey, toothbrush._

What? He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth. He has a lot of things on his mind.

He zones out at some point, deliberating putting a new weapon into the arm of the new iron man suit, and it’s a while before he realizes he’s been brushing his teeth for almost ten minutes and they are definitely clean now.

He spits into the sink, puts the toothbrush back, and is about to leave for bed when he catches his reflection in the mirror.

He looks tired, which often happens when you stay awake for three days. There are thick circles under his eyes, and salt-and-pepper in his hair and god, he’s not getting any younger, is he?

He braces one hand on the sink and stares- he has his mother’s eyes, he knows, it’s one of the things he actually likes about himself. Everything else- the hair, the swipe of his chin, the stubble- it’s all Howard.

Tony thinks it would just be so much easier if he just hated them both.

He stares for a good long minute, getting lost in the overused angle of his neck, how his fingers shake after this long of determinedly not sleeping, the ratio of dried sweat vs. dirt wedged into his fingernails, the methodical burns on his hands.

He stares until his hand starts to tinge.

He stares until he expects the mirror to snap.

He stares and stares and fuck, he’s so _tired_.

Without thinking- because that’s how his best ideas happen- he draws his fist back and slams it into the mirror, getting a nasty satisfaction at how the glass shatters down the middle and cracks along the sides of the impact, distorting his face so he can’t recognize himself.

Pain blooms in his knuckles in a heated rush, because that happens when you punch a mirror, and Tony looks down to see small, serrated pieces of glass stuck in his hand.

He groans inwardly. This is going to be a bitch to get out, and he just wants to go to fucking _bed_ , fucking Christ-

“That was stupid, even for you.”

Tony looks up.

Bruce has his eyebrows raised at him from the bathroom door. “And I thought I was the one with anger issues.”

Tony says, “I don’t- do that. I mean, not often. I’m an introvert, when I’m pissed or whatever, I just crawl back to my workshop and refuse to talk to people for a few days, I don’t- punch stuff.”

Bruce yawns, padding over to him. “Your hand begs to differ.” He takes Tony’s hand and drops it quickly when Tony winces. “You want to get it out or not?”

Tony stares. “Bruce, you must be half out of your mind with exhaustion.”

“I just had some coffee.”

“Great, so I want a jittery guy picking glass out of my hand.”

Bruce shrugs. “That or you use your left hand to do it yourself.”

Tony considers for a second- he’s okay with his left hand, but he’s just as dead on his feet as Bruce is at the moment. “Fuck. Fine. Don’t tell anyone about the whole-” he waves his uninjured hand at the broken mirror. “-thing.”

Bruce pinches two fingers and zips them across his mouth. “My lips are sealed. Where do we keep the tweezers?”

Tony sighs. “This is going to be _fun_. Ah, in the cabinet. Natasha uses them. Or Clint. I don’t ask.”

Bruce finds the tweezers on the second shelf in the cabinet and shoves them under the hot water tap, scrubbing at them with his fingers. When they’re clean- or his definition of clean- he waves them at Tony as they sit down on the lip of the bathtub.

“Stay still.”

“That’s the general idea,” Tony says, holding back a yawn, trying to keep his hand steady and watching Bruce try to do the same.

For a while, there’s just comfortable silence- it’s like this a lot, especially down in the labs. Bruce and Tony had been the first Avengers to actually get close (except for Natasha and Clint, but they already knew each other from whatever horrifying, homicidal missions they had been on together).

After a few months, they had all gotten to know each other, so now they’re all pretty close- but everyone has people for different reasons. Steve goes to Natasha to spar; Tony goes to Bruce to work on a new prototype, Steve goes to JARVIS to ask something about the news or who the hell Michael Jackson is.

This is all just generally, though- they’ve all gone to each other’s rooms at some point, to chat, to spar, to watch crappy reruns, to talk about things that they make them swear never to mention again.

Pinkie-swear, in Clint’s case.

They still fight with each other, they still argue and get fed up with living with five other borderline-insane people, but in the end, they always end up in front of the TV at 2 A.M. bickering over their favourite shows.

All in all, it’s the happiest Tony’s been in his life.

Steve hadn’t been expected, though. At first, he and Tony had just pissed each other off, but after a while, that had faded to grudging respect, and finally friendship, and then _close_ friendship, and then Tony’s not-so-innocent thoughts had turned into full-blown _holy shit, I’m in love with him_ , followed by intense denial for a year.

Which had kind of blown up in his face due to Tony getting drunk off his face at a Gala, and then mashing his mouth against Steve’s during a delirious moment of thinking that he’ll kiss back.

Which he hadn’t, but whatever.

“Ahh.” Tony bites down on a yelp as a spike of pain bolts up Tony’s arm.

Bruce makes an apologetic face. “Sorry. Almost done.” He glares over his glasses at the remaining pieces.

Tony glances over at the sink, where the pile of shards is slowly growing. “So. Greek gods, huh?”

Bruce’s mouth quirks upwards. “Seems like.”

“You like ‘em?”

Bruce rolls his eyes. “Suuure. What did they call me again? ‘the finger that releases the arrow’? Nice to know I’m even unstable in prophecies.”

Tony snorts, and then regrets it, because it jostles his arm slightly. “I know. I mean, who comes up with that? Do they have to be so irritatingly vague about it? Wouldn’t it just be so much easier if the prophets just _said_ , ‘there’s a guy in Migard who turns green, triples in size and fucks shit up?’ It’s like they want to make it hard for us.”

“They probably do,” Bruce remarks, still not looking away from the tweezers. “To test our strength, or whatever. They’re all about that, according to Thor. What did the woman say to you again?”

Tony is half-swaying, so he legitimately doesn’t remember when he says, “Who?”

“Aphrodite,” Bruce prompts. “Goddess of love. Ringing any bells?”

“Ah,” Tony says, remembering the lull in her voice, how his name had scraped like rust along her throat. “Don’t know. Didn’t think it mattered, what with the apocalypse and all. Hey, do people know about this yet?”

Bruce tightens his grip on the bandage that he’s wrapping around Tony’s hand. “What?”

“The apocalypse. I’m guessing the media haven’t got wind of it yet. The end of the world is a great merchandising scheme. Sales on condoms and vodka would go through the roof.”

Bruce laughs. “I’ll trust you on that. No, we haven’t told the public yet, for obvious reasons.”

“Fair en- _fuck_ , Banner, you’re a butcher.” Tony manages not to flinch, but it’s a close call.

Bruce twists the knob of the tap so water clatters into the sink and lets it run over the bloodied tweezers. “You’re welcome.”

“Mmrgh,” Tony says, leaning over to scoop the leftover glass into the bin.

Bruce turns to leave, but Tony reaches out with his uninjured hand. “Hey.”

He turns back, and Tony sees the tell-tale bags under his eyes.

Tony tries not to go overboard with the smile. “Uh, thanks.”

Bruce just grins back tiredly. “Anytime, Tony.”

-

Loki is dragging himself along now, his breathing is strewn about everywhere, and there’s still the unsettling beat behind his eyes-

_Home, home, home-_

 

 

_  
_

 

 

 

 

**Three days until:**

“What’d you do to your hand?”

Tony glances down, flexing his bandaged hand. “Accident in the lab. Dummy’s an idiot.”

Steve is frowning.

“Okay,” he says, but gives Tony a quick once-over before turning back to Fury, who is explaining something about not letting civilians catch on.

Tony drums his uninjured hand against the table, very pointedly not paying attention- he never does to these things, and everyone knows it.

He wishes that Fury would just give up and let him get back to his workshop- they’re barely any help with the end of the world until shit starts to actually go down and they have things to fight. Until then, it’s just Apollo with a team of SHIELD’s finest trying to figure out what the last few lines of the prophecy say.

Tony leans back in his chair and fits his hands behind his head, closing his eyes. He had gotten a few hours’ sleep last night, which he counts as an achievement, but-

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone appear. As in, appear, as in _magic_ , as in really, really not good-

Mostly everyone else seems to have noticed it, too, because two thirds of the table leap up when he does, hands going towards their guns if they have them.

Thor says, “Brother?”

Loki’s wheezing. There’s sweat dampening his forehead. He sways, his gaze unfocused, before stumbling, trying to catch himself, and then hitting the wall and sliding down it.

Steve yells, “Don’t do anything, it might be a trap,” the same time Thor yells, “Brother!” and rushes forward to steady him.

Steve glares at the back of Thor’s head, but Thor is too far gone at this point.

Loki says fervently, “’M sorry. Sorry.”

Thor takes Loki’s head in his hands. “Loki, what illness has befallen you?”

Loki slurs something, and then licks his lips and tries again. “Pois- poisoned. Didn’t- m’ sorry.”

“What for, brother?”

Loki chokes out a laugh, finally locking onto Thor’s gaze. “I- Y’rasil. Yggdrasil. Poisoned me.”

Tony clicks his fingers to himself, trying to jog his memory. “Yggdra- wait, _Yggdrasil_? The world’s tree? What the hell were you doing to it that made it poison you? Please tell me you’re not going to have a tree-baby in addition to the horse one.”

Thor turns around and glares, and Tony falls silent.

“’M sorry,” Loki mumbles again. “Didn’t- thought it would give me power. Powerful. It- I cut into it, I didn’t think the stories-”

“All stories come from some form of truth, brother, you know that,” Thor says. “Loki, you- the end of days has begun because of what you have done, brother.”

Loki’s gaze rolls upwards, unfocused again. “I know. The sky here, it-”

He stops, staring at something that’s not there, and his eyelids flutter shut.

Thor shakes him gently. “Brother?”

“Get Loki to the infirmary, now,” Fury says, and the SHIELD agents look confused.

Fury turns to them, and they shrink back slightly. “He may be a dangerous, wacko demigod with daddy issues, but he’s a dangerous, wacko demigod with daddy issues that may be the key to _stopping_ this thing. He started it, so chances are he can help to finish it.”

“Or it’s an elaborate plan to kill us all,” Natasha steps forward, crossing her arms. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Maybe so,” Fury says. “And I am well prepared if he wakes up and goes insane, believe me. But for now, get him to the infirmary.”

“I’ll escort him, sir.”

Tony turns, because that _voice_ , it can’t be him, he’s dead-

Bruce says, “Holy _shit_.”

Clint almost drops his bow and Steve starts forwards, but Fury just says, “Don’t damage the merchandise, Coulson.”

Coulson nods. “Of course.”

Thor takes a tentative step towards him. “Son of Coul?”

“Later, Thor,” Coulson says, putting a hand to his earpiece and nodding at the other SHIELD agents. “I’m kind of busy.”

Steve doesn’t uncurl his hand from around his shield, but his smile is hopeful. “You’re alive?”

Coulson squirms a bit. “Uh. Yes, Captain. I was never actually dead.”

“I told agent Coulson to take some well-deserved time off,” Fury says, and Tony, being a genius, puts the pieces together, and fucking _hell_ -

“Oh, you _bitch_.” Tony whirls on Fury. “You told us he was dead so we’d get our shit together!”

Fury, in the Fury-esque way, doesn’t move a muscle. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“You-”

“I believe we have more pressing matters at hand,” Coulson interrupts what is to be a long-winded rant from Tony, with many colourful adjectives. “Could we get the demigod off of the floor, please?”

-

When Loki opens his eyes, the sky is a syrupy blue, oozing over the stars.

He sits up groggily, and startles when he sees the woman standing over him.

She grins, and her teeth- “Hello, Silvertongue. It has been too long.”

Loki’s voice is shaky, but he can’t help the smile when he says, “I dare say it has been, Aphrodite. How did you get here? The Great Lock-” it smacks him in the face right then, so hard that he bites out a laugh. “Ah. Yggdrasil is dying. The dimensions are… turning unstable, correct?”

“Correct,” Aphrodite smiles again, lips the colour of raw meat. “According to the prophecies, we have less than a week until they collapse entirely, with us inside them.”

Loki nods to himself. “I suppose a simple ‘oops’ will not suffice?”

Aphrodite laughs, and it’s a wound twinging when you poke it: hurts like a bitch, but it’s reassuring. “I think not, old friend.”

Loki bristles when she eases down next to him, her dress billowing around her in ruffles.

“You know not of what I’ve done, I presume.”

She looks at him full in the face, as she always used to, and it makes Loki ache. “I have been told.”

Loki keeps silent for a few seconds.

Things are cast into deep, rich colours: dark purple, gold winding around the marble arches. A few dozen feet to their left, he can see a lake. The water churns, spiralling upwards into cones- “Is this Asgard?”

She shakes her head. “Think wider.”

“I-” Loki stops.

He inhales through his nose. There is no smell here- not the heavy silt of Migard, the glossy dust of Asgard, the sharp, icy scent of Jotenhiem-

“I am asleep.”

“The Migardians call it a coma,” Aphrodite says. “I thought I would see if my dreamwalking skills have gotten dusty.”

Loki’s lips quirk upwards. “It gladdens me to see you well, Aphrodite, but- many things have changed in your absence.”

“I am well aware to what has changed,” Aphrodite says, and Loki catches a flash of a supernova bursting around her spine. “Thor has changed. You have changed. The worlds, as always, change- but the prophecies haven’t.”

Loki frowns. “What do I have to do with the prophecies?”

Aphrodite has always had shark teeth. When she had first gone to earth, people had run away- the artists, the painters, the old myths, they had all referred to her as gracefully beautiful, but they had never mentioned the teeth.

“More than you know, Silvertongue.”

“Again with the old nickname.” Loki looks out over the lake, where the water is coiling, and misses home like a punch to the kidney. “I never did know why you took such an interest in me.”

He doesn’t look at her, but he can tell she’s still smiling that sad smile. “Because you are so full of love, my friend. Untamed, destructive love-” she leans forwards and presses her warm lips against his cheek. “But love all the same. Your love for Thor has always burned too bright for me to ignore.”

Loki tenses. “I do not-”

“You do,” she says. “Listen. He sings for you.”

Loki opens his mouth, but there is a whisper vibrating across the sky:

_“-arms will circle you most true_

_They will be there to sing bri-i-ghtly_

_They will cradle you in the bl-”_

Aphrodite raises a hand to run it through his hair. “He stays at your bedside.”

Loki clenches his jaw so hard he feels a tooth crack.

There is something wrong. He can feel it.

Aphrodite says, “Do you understand now, Silvertongue?”

-

“Done yet?”

Apollo glances up. “Not yet, no.”

Tony shrugs. “Take your time. No pressure. Not like it’s the end of the world, or anything-”

“I assure you, Tony Stark,” Apollo says, “I am working as fast as I can to translate these last lines.”

Tony slides into the seat next to him. “Okay, seriously. What’s with the full name?”

Apollo blinks at him. “…Would you prefer I called you ‘my lord’?”

“Nooo. I’m just pointing out that it’s weird that you always use the full name. ‘Tony’ is fine. Why do you always do the full name?”

Apollo frowns. “In my world, you are a- a deity, of sorts. Your name is scrawled across the plane of history. It would not be right to simply address you like a commoner.”

“Uh,” Tony says. “Fair enough, but don’t you mean Iron Man?”

Now Apollo looks thoroughly confused. “You are Iron Man. ‘The suit and I are one,’ you said-”

Tony waves his hands. “Yeah, yeah I know, but shouldn’t the prophecies be focusing on the Iron Man part, not the Tony part?”

Apollo’s frown continues to deepen. “But _you_ are the hero, Tony Stark. Not the suit.”

Tony is kind of caught off guard with that one. For a few seconds, his mouth just moves wordlessly, but then he gathers enough coherent thought to say, “Thank you? I guess. Uh, I’m going to- go and do- science things. Bye.”

Apollo’s “Goodbye, Tony Stark,” follows him down the hall.

-

Loki doesn’t look at her as she says, “Do you remember your old friend, Atlas?”

-

“The broad hand which once was glass, yes?”

Steve manages to hold in a yelp. “I- hello.”

Aphrodite’s teeth draw his eyes, but he forces them away. Instead, he looks at her eyes. It’s only polite.

But she just smiles wider. “Do they frighten you, Captain?”

“N-”

“I thought not,” she cuts him off. “You Migardians- you are all so surprising. Everyone’s so much _more_ than they assume.”

“Thanks?” Steve glances awkwardly between her and the others- ‘the others’ being Tony, Natasha, Clint and Artemis as Artemis and Clint compare bows.

When Steve looks back to Aphrodite, her eyes are tracking over where he had just looked. She’s not smiling now.

“What do you think of Tony?”

 _Now_ Steve’s looking at her. “I- he’s, he’s very- excuse me?”

Again, those shark teeth crowd inside her too-pink mouth. “Think yourself lucky. I am not one for thinking things. But something tells me you would respond with even more stammer if I asked how you feel about him.”

Steve manages a stuttering smile that goes as soon as it comes. “You’re not wrong.”

“I am the goddess of love,” Aphrodite says. “I am not wrong about many things. I already know what you think of him, what you feel of him. I just wonder if you do.”

Steve can feel the blush blazing across his cheeks. “It’s- I don’t mean to be rude, Miss, but it’s a very personal matter that you’re trying to discuss with me.”

Steve is hit by the sudden _she’s a god, she can kill you by looking at you, you should’ve just answered her._

He watches as Aphrodite’s teeth fit together, like fingers lacing. “And what of his heart?”

“You mean the arc reactor? It’s-” Steve stares very determinedly at the ground. “-good. I mean, it keeps him alive, so of course it’s good.”

“Agreed,” she says softly.

Then, “You would be good for each other.”

Steve’s getting nervous- he’s struck by the sudden possibility that she can read minds, and she’s seeing his whole brain mapped out right now, start to finish.

Then something _ignites_ -

He feels the tightness of the boy’s knuckles knocking against his cheek behind a diner. He feels the burst of blood down his split lip. He feels his mother’s frayed hand, cooling slowly on top of his. He feels Bucky’s machine-gun laugh, Peggy’s slash of lipstick, the ragged edge of his ripped cowl. He feels the musky air behind enemy lines.

He feels the water, cold enough to scream, filling his mouth, filling the spaces. He feels the phantom cold ghosting over him as the sun bakes his skin and there’s sand against his heels. The pale sharpness of Tony’s hipbone as he reaches for a coffee cup. The flushed red of Tony’s lips around a champagne glass. The sickly taste as Tony reaches and shoves his mouth against his, his hand on the small of his back-

“Steve.”

Aphrodite’s voice circles him like a fist.

“Steve, come back.”

Steve blinks hard, and he’s still standing in front of Aphrodite, and his hands are shaking, and-

He manages, “What the _heck_ was that?”

Her teeth slide against each other, side to side. “That,” she says, “was not my doing. It happens sometimes when certain people are exposed to me.”

Steve keeps blinking.

_2012\. 2012. Not in the 40s. Bucky and Peggy aren’t here. Breathe. God damn it-_

“Certain people?”

Her eyes flash full of light, but when he looks again, they’re the same pale-pink-brown.

Her jaw shifts. “ _Loving_ people.”

“Steve!”

Steve looks across the room, and Tony’s snapping his fingers in his direction. “I would say ‘tune in,’ but that’d be kind of ironic.” He pulls the overused, faking-casual smile. “You okay?”

Steve tries to smile back. “I’m fine, Tony. Thanks.”

Tony’s eyes flicker along him. “I can see that.”

-

Loki remembers, like from a distant dream: the faux-fear on her face, how she had startled, the stretch of his own grin.

_Can you really wipe out that much red?_

Loki says it, and it sounds thick and soupy in his mouth:

“I have… red in my ledger.”

-

“He still sings for you, Silvertongue.”

“I am aware, I do have ears.”

“I know. But do you listen?”

Loki watches the curve of the sky, how it glazes over, black and blue, and thinks of the crinkles at the side of his brother’s eyes.

She says, “Do you understand now, Silvertongue?”

 

 

 

 

**Two days until:**

First, there had been earthquakes that ripped half of Europe to shit.

Then a string of tsunamis that had wiped out most of New Zealand.

Then Australia, then Canada, then a series of hurricanes throughout the USA, and Mexico, and East Russia.

The sky had started acting strangely- patches of different skies, different constellations, different colours, and people from other dimensions randomly appearing and disappearing- missing posters are going up everywhere from people getting sucked into wormholes and black holes and different planets and what the hell _ever_.

All this happens within three days- when Loki had cut open Yggdrasil.

At this point, people are kind of catching on.

Then huge monster-things show up from Delphi and start breaking things, which doesn’t help.

-

“Titans?” Clint frowns. “Like in the Disney film?”

“I do not understand what ‘Disney’ is,” Athena says, “But my father locked the Titans away millenniums ago. They will cause untold damage to your world if you do not cage them again soon.”

“Is this our first priority?” Artemis asks. “Should we not be focusing everything on translating the runes? If the world is going to end in three days, I would think that a few thousand causalities caused by the Titans would not be a worry.”

“Yeah, but none of the Avengers can translate for shit,” Fury says. “So they’re not much help sticking around here. They might as well clean up your mess while we still got some time left.”

“Whoop-dee-doo,” Clint says. “Let’s go, then.”

“Whoa, hey.” Tony takes a bite out of his sandwich. “Why aren’t you guys handling this? You’re _gods_. Something tells me you can take a machete to the neck a lot better than I ever could.”

“I agree.” Ares stands up, pushing his chair away. “We should fight. We have not been in any lethal fight for ov-”

“Sit _down_ , hothead.” Artemis shoves him in the chest from where she’s sitting, and turns to Tony. “We are nothing more than mortal in Migard. We would be useless in combat.”

Tony looks affronted. “Gee whiz, thanks a bunch. Us mortals do okay.”

“Agreed,” Steve says. “Everyone gear up, we’ll- wait, where’s Thor?”

Natasha props her head up on her hand, looking sideways at Steve. “Loki. Pretty sure this is the only sleep he’s got in the past few days. We can handle this on our own.”

Clint snorts. “Did you not _watch_ Hercules? That’s four guys like skyscrapers throwing fireballs and-”

“I still do not know of what you speak,” Athena interrupts, “but there are only three Titans that got through, and if what I have seen is correct, they are Eurybia, Menoetius and Aura.”

Bruce folds his glasses and tucks them into his pocket. Due to him probably Hulking out later, he doesn’t want to break another pair. “Mind dumbing that down a little for us?”

Athena frowns at him. “Eurybia is master of the seas- he is probably the cause of most of the tsunamis humankind has been experiencing. Then Menoetius, the titan of anger, rash action, and mortality. Lastly, Aura, of the breeze and the early morning air- she used to be a peaceful, loving Titan. It saddens me to see what she has become.”

“They’ll be sure to mention that to her,” Fury deadpans. “The helicarrier is on the roof. Don’t get killed, it’ll be bad for the press, especially at this point.”

Tony raises his hand in a mock salute. “Sir, yes _sir_.”

Steve tries not to smile. “Suit up, Tony, we’re leaving in five.”

“Sir, yes-”

Steve gently shoves his shoulder into his. “Shut up.”

-

“It is very bright here.”

Aphrodite looks out over the lake. “It is.”

Loki wets his lips- they’re dry and split, and there’s blood on his tongue when it slips back into his mouth.

“How is it so bright if there’s no sun here?”

“There is the moon.” Aphrodite points. “See, there- hanging like a ripe plum.”

Loki traces her gaze- the water is boiling.

“The moon has no light of its own, it only reflects what it has from the sun.”

The whisper starts up again, slower this time:

_-adle you in the blue-_

When he looks back, she’s staring at him, her mouth parted over jagged teeth.

She murmurs, “Doesn’t it?”

-

“Black Widow, to your right-”

“I’m _trying_ , Hawkeye, they’re not exactly-”

“Mother _fucker_ -”

“Iron Man, you okay?”

“Oh, I’m _dandy_ , Ca- top left!”

Steve leaps out of the way just in time to avoid half of a wall, which smashes into the building directly below him.

Most of Brooklyn is pretty much destroyed- they’re only facing two Titans, the ‘violence’ once and the ‘breeze’ one, and the ‘master of the ocean’ is predictably at the ocean.

Not that the ‘breeze’ one is particularly breezy, or the ‘ocean’ one particularly ocean-y.

They, like the Greek gods, have no powers in this realm, either- but they’re still huge and pissed off, which is a bad combination.

Hell, just ask Bruce.

Black Widow lands on a lamppost above Steve’s head. “What’s the plan?”

Steve is panting. “Uh,” he says. “Hit them until they fall down?”

Black Widow says, “I can work with that,” and pulls out a gun and starts shooting.

The breeze Titan is only half solid- its torso seems to be made out of rock, but its head and limbs are all swirling masses of metal, and it keeps trying to step on people.

And buildings.

And dogs.

It’s not really that fussy.

The violence Titan is about a third bigger than the other, is made out of solid iron, and it actually has a face- expressionless, but every so often it throws back its head to let out a ghostly roar that scares the bejeezus out of Steve.

Cap puts his hand to his comm. “Okay, the breeze Titan is going to be trickier to get down, but it has a body- sort of- so that means we can kill it.”

“One day,” Tony yells as he streaks past, firing his repulsors at the Titan’s head, “we should have a contest to see who can come up with the weirdest thing any of us has ever said.”

“Roger that,” Cap says. “I- oh, come _on_.”

Hulk had just managed to break off a piece of the breeze Titan’s arm, and it had grown back almost instantly before swiping Hulk out of the air.

“Aaaaand they regenerate,” Tony says flatly. “Of course.”

Hawkeye fires yet another exploding arrow into the Titan’s face. “We could fly ropes around them and tie them up.”

“Do you see any ropes around here?” Black Widow snaps.

Hawkeye holds the hand up that’s not holding the bow. “Just trying to be helpful, jeez.”

Cap surveys the damage of the city. “Hey, Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“In the movie, how did they kill the Titans?”

“Uh,” Clint says, “They flew them out into space and they exploded. I think.”

Cap nods. “As always, you are incredibly helpful, thank you, Hawkeye.”

Over the comm, Clint cries, “Okay, wow, what’s with everyone getting pissy at me today? You _asked_ , and I-” he stops. “Iron Man, what the hell are you-”

Cap’s head snaps up, searching. “Tony, if you are doing something self-sacrificing again, I swear to god, I-”

“I don’t see any of you coming up with better ideas,” Tony’s voice comes over the comm, and Steve spots him then, flying straight towards the breeze Titan’s chest.

The millisecond where he hits it, Steve is struck dumb by the idea that he could just crumple and bounce off, but Tony drills through and bursts out the other side, looping upwards in an arc.

The Titan screeches- Steve can’t tell where from, because it doesn’t have a mouth, but it manages it- and its arm flies out and catches Tony in mid-air, sending him crashing into the side of a building.

“Iron Man! Iron Man, report-” Cap yells, running for where Tony is-

Falling. He’s slipped from the window of the building and is plunging downwards, and Steve remembers their first battle, how Tony hadn’t slowed down that time, either, how Hulk’s arms had circled him and-

It’s like that again, only the Hulk is too far away this time, and Tony’s still limp, and he’s still falling, and Cap is running so hard his breath is burning-

Tony hits the ground hard, and Steve is only a few metres away.

-

The song is gone, but it won’t stop.

It thrums through Loki’s veins, his barbed blood, his fingers, the ground underneath his feet.

Aphrodite is not here, either, but her voice mixes with the song like water and oil:

_Do you understand now, Silverto-_

-

Steve yanks off the faceplate, and, unlike last time, Tony is already blinking at him.

Tony slurs, “Wazzahapp?”

“Oh, so just like normal, then,” Clint says. “For a second there we were worried you might have brain damage.”

Cap glares at him over his shoulder, and Clint grins raggedly.

 _Relieved_ , Cap realizes.

Tony rolls his head sideways, groggy, and Steve suddenly wants to shake him, or kiss him, or fucking punch him- he half-shouts, “What the _hell_ was that?”

“Hey, nothing else _worked_ ,” Tony shoots back. “They’re destroying the city, what the fuck else was I supposed to do?”

Steve barks out a laugh. “Maybe ease up on your death wish for five seconds?”

“Oh, here we go,” Tony rolls his eyes and his head clanks against the armour. “Seriously? You’re honestly going to bring tha-”

“Did I ever mention,” Coulson’s voice interrupts them over the comm, “That you’re all idiots?”

Steve ducks his head as a smile flashes over his face. “You may have mentioned it.”

Clint says, “We missed you bitching at us while we save the world, sir. Where the hell are you?”

“Far away,” Coulson says, his voice tinny. “Like a sane person. Remember how Athena said her father locked them up?”

“Uh,” Steve says. “Yes?”

“And who is her father?”

“…Zeus?”

“Oh, no _way_.” Tony forces himself up into a sitting position. “You got Zeus?”

“No,” Coulson says. “But we’ve got the next best thing, since you guys happened to _forget_ to bring along the only one who could actually help you with this.”

Tony starts to ask, _how the hell could Thor help other than Mjolnir, which wouldn’t even_ \- when lightning strikes a house in half and Tony remembers all those mythology books he had read as a kid and Zeus’s favourite accessory was his _thunderbolts_ and fuck, he’s an idiot.

“Huh,” Tony says thoughtfully.

-

“Do you understand, Silvertongue?”

He says, “What am I to understand?”

-

The second they get back to the Helicarrier, Coulson finds himself being grabbed by the neck.

He scrabbles, but as soon as he sees that it’s Clint, he stops. “Barton! What the hell are you-”

“Got him,” Clint says, and Natasha stalks into the room, takes a knife out of her pocket and pins Coulson to the wall by his tie.

Coulson splutters, “Get-”

“We thought you were _dead_ , you asshole,” Clint yells, and that stops Coulson cold.

Clint continues: “We fucking _grieved_ over you! Hell, everyone grieved over you! _Cap_ grieved over you, and don’t you dare go into fanboy mode, not the time,” he warns, baring his teeth, and Coulson stops struggling.

“We went to your funeral. It was in Budapest, did they tell you? Took us a long fucking time to arrange that, we had to pull shitloads of strings. We had to live with the fact that we weren’t fast enough, we weren’t good enough, and you died on our watch, Coulson. We spent this whole time thinking that it was our fault, that maybe if we could have got there in time-” Clint stops, puts a palm to his forehead.

“If Fury uses you for a manipulation piece, then you get the job done, and then you come back and _tell_ us, not let us think you’re dead for over a year, Jesus fucking Christ-” Clint’s voice cracks, and he steps back, swallowing.

Coulson waits for Clint to compose himself before saying, “It was Fury’s idea. I apologize. I didn’t know it would affect you this badly.”

Clint snorts. “Affect me,” he mutters. “Right. Barely lost any sleep over it, jeez, Coulson, what do you take me for? Sir,” he adds, as an afterthought.

Coulson smiles involuntarily, and looks towards Natasha.

She doesn’t smile, but she moves forwards and dislodges the knife.

She tucks it back into her pocket. “Don’t do it again. Sir.”

Coulson says, “As you wish, agents.”

-

When they get back, Pepper practically cricks her neck by turning to face them so fast.

Tony slows, and then stops. “Whoa. Um. Is this not a good time?”

She glares, but then her expression crumples. She lets loose a quiet sob, and rushes forward. She grabs him around the waist, burying her head in his neck.

Everyone freezes, including Tony.

After a few stunned seconds, he pats her tentatively on the back. “Uh. Pep? Are you okay?”

Her voice is muffled when she says, “Of course I’m not okay, you asshole.”

Tony raises his eyebrows. “…O-kay then.”

She draws back, her hand pressed against her mouth, which is twisted. “Christ, Tony, I-”

Her voice is wobbling.

She drags in a strangled breath, and okay, now Tony’s really worried.

“Did something happen to Rhodey?”

She shakes her head.

“Happy?”

She shakes her head again, and lets out a squeak, her breath coming in short hiccups.

“Thor, get-” Coulson halts, staring at Pepper. “Pepper, are you okay?”

Pepper’s voice cracks. “Phil, they didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Pepper moves like she’s going to cross her arms, but then aborts and just rubs her hands against opposite arms. “They, uh.” She swallows. “They translated the last line of the prophecy just now.”

“Sooo…” Clint presses his palms together awkwardly. “We’re all going to die?”

“No,” Pepper chokes. “No, it gets stopped, but-”

“Hello again, Tony Stark,” Apollo says, emerging from the next room over. His tone is quiet, held back, and he won’t look at him.

Tony feels recognition deep in his gut, but he pulls a grin and says, “What’s the verdict?”

Apollo hesitates, and fuck, he’s barely like a god at all- so much _less_ than his brother and sister, yet a billion times more. He even shuffles his feet. “I regret to tell you, Tony Stark, that- the last line of the prophecy, it says-” he stops, breathes in deeply, and Tony gets the gist of it before he even says it.

“It says that the universe is going to be saved by the blue heart coming to a halt.”

Silence.

The silence stretches, and grows, and expands until they’re all drowning in it, and everyone’s staring at each other, and Tony, and the floor, and-

Tony’s seen this before on TV- the guy gets told he has cancer and everyone sort of goes into shock.

Steve speaks first.

“No,” he says, smiling in disbelief, and Tony feels it like a punch: how Steve’s thinking _no, it has to be a mistake, he got it wrong,_ and it’s all right there, playing out on Steve’s face. “You must’ve read it wrong, you-”

 _Denial_ , Tony remembers. _What was it again? The five stages of losing a loved one. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression -_

“I assure you, Captain, I did not,” Apollo says. “The prophecy says he must go to Yggdrasi-”

“Then check it again,” Natasha says, stepping forward, and Steve barely even glances at her.

 _Anger_ , Tony thinks, watching the desperate set of Steve’s shoulders.

Apollo doesn’t move. “I am certain of it, Black Widow. I am very sorry, but there is nothing-”

Steve says, “Please,” and Tony feels a twist as he thinks: _Bargaining_.

“I think we should give Tony some time alone,” Coulson pipes up, and almost everyone starts to protest, but Tony says, “That’d be good, yeah.”

Natasha stares at him before storming out of the room, Clint on her heels, saying her name.

Apollo says, “I am sorry, Tony Stark,” and retreats.

Coulson puts a hand on Pepper’s arm and guides her out, and Thor sort of nods at him before leaving.

Bruce swallows, and walks forward until he can put a hand on his shoulder. “We still have two days, so- don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Tony scoffs. “Like I’d do anything stupid. It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Bruce chokes out a laugh, and puts his arms around his shoulders and squeezes. “I’ll get them to go over the prophecy again, see if they missed anything.”

“You do that,” Tony says over Bruce’s shoulder, and then Bruce is letting go, and pats him on the shoulder again before walking out.

Then it’s just him and Steve, and Tony sort of shrinks, because Steve looks so damn _defiant_ , like he’s going to let the world end to keep Tony.

“We’ll figure out a way to fix this,” Steve says.

Tony grits his teeth, turning to walk out the door opposite. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Cap?”

“Don’t ‘Cap’ me,” Steve says, and then he’s right in front of him, blocking the door, and Tony balks at the look on his face. He looks more than just _upset_ , he looks-

“Tony, don’t try to just shrug this off, they said you’re going to _die_ -”

Tony tried to shove past. “Then can I die without you bitching at me?”

Steve says, “Tony,” and Tony tries to duck past him, but Steve grabs him and turns him so his back is pressed into a wall.

Tony struggles, twisting in Steve’s grip. “Damnit, Steve! Just let me-”

Steve lets him go immediately, and Tony doesn’t even look at him, just heads for the door.

Steve sounds wrecked as he says, “Fuck, Tony, did it ever occur to you that I need you just as much as you need me?”

That smacks Tony in the face, and he shudders to a stop.

He jumps when Steve’s splayed hand comes to rest on the small of his back, pressing there solidly.

Steve says, “I’m in love with you,” and it rolls warmly in his mouth.

Tony tenses. “Bullshit.”

“Tony-”

“Don’t,” Tony snaps, whirling around, and Steve’s hand hangs in the air between them like a dead weight until he drops it- “Don’t do this for my benefit.”

Steve swallows shakily. “I’m not. I’m not, I’m in love with you.”

Tony brings a hand up to scrub at his forehead. “If you’re just saying this because I’ll be dead tomorrow, I swear-”

Steve says, “Please don’t say that,” and Tony stops.

They’re not very close together, Tony realizes. There’s at least an arm’s length between them, at least.

“I’ve been in love with you for a while,” Steve says. “I thought- when you kissed me last week, I thought-”

“It was just a kiss,” Tony says, the words like smoke filling his mouth, choking him. “I was drunk, it didn’t mean anyth-”

“Don’t do that. Not after everything we’ve-” He laughs in a way that’s really not funny at all. “Christ, the world is ending, and you’re actually going to pull that shit?”

Tony shrugs. His mouth is horrendously dry. “Worth a shot.”

Steve steps towards him, and Tony manages to stay where he is. “It was never just a kiss, I was never _just_ your best friend, we-” Steve looks at him, begging, and he looks so fucking _lost_.

“Tony, if you’re going to die tomorrow-” He stops, unable to speak around the lump in his throat, and when he does, it’s quiet. “At least… at least let me have this. Have… you. Just for a night.”

Tony almost swallows his tongue. For a few seconds, he just stares, mouth hanging open, his brain rotating in the same circle.

Finally, he manages, “Jesus, Steve, of course you’d phrase it like that, you kinky bastard.”

Steve huffs a strained laugh, and takes another step forward, and Tony lets him. Steve moves another step, then another, and then they’re less than an inch apart and Steve’s staring down at him, and Tony barely breathes from- something. Fear, or anticipation, or lo-

Steve dips his head down and then hesitates, like Tony’s actually going to change his mind at this point. Says, “Tony, I-” and then gives up and kisses him.

Steve kisses like a storm. He kisses like a blizzard, like a hurricane, like a spark being dropped onto a floor of gasoline, like something electric and live-wire, like he’s blazing and full of light, and Tony wants to stay like this for as long as he can, end of the universe be damned.

Their mouths move together silently, and Steve startles when Tony’s tongue licks into his mouth, but then he’s groaning and pressing himself hard against the line of Tony’s body, and okay, Tony _really_ didn’t expect him to be so enthusiastic about this.

Steve’s hands come up to fist in his hair, pulling him closer, and then separates from him long enough to gasp, “Bedroom.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Tony croaks, and Steve laughs breathlessly again, pulling him along by his hand.

Tony closes the door behind them, and then Steve’s standing in front of him, next to the bed, his mouth red and swollen.

They both lean forwards and meet in the middle, and Tony’s still half-convinced that the knock to the head earlier had put him into a coma and he’s now in the middle of a delirious, fucked-up dream, but then Steve’s lips trace a line down his neck and he stops caring.

Steve presses a kiss to the base of his neck. He mutters into Tony’s shirt, “Still a virgin.”

Tony rolls his eyes and brings Steve’s face up to take his bottom lip between his teeth. He bites down softly, and watches Steve’s pupils blow wide. When there’s a small indentation, he sucks on it slightly before letting it go. “No pressure.”

“No pressure,” Steve agrees, still sounding nervous, but he’s smiling, and he pulls Tony closer again, kissing him in a way that’s too sweet and too gentle than Tony’s used to, and still manages to make it the hottest thing Tony’s ever had.

And because he’s lightheaded and quite possibly drunk off of Steve, he says, “You, too, by the way.”

Steve starts to say _what_ before he gets it, and his smile turns into a grin and Tony pulls him in and mashes their mouths together before Steve can say anything else.

Steve’s hands shape the wings of Tony’s shoulderbones, thumbs running along the delves, before slipping to his chest and covering the arc reactor with one hand.

Tony’s gasp rips out of him, and he shudders into Steve’s hand so it grips tightly, Steve’s wrist pressing into one of the larger scars underneath it, and fuck, no-one’s _done_ this, no-one’s ever-

Tony says, “Shirts,” because there’s not enough skin showing, because this is getting too intense too fast, and it’s Steve, so of course it would be.

But Steve just steps back slightly and peels his own shirt off, and Tony’s breath leaves him in a rush.

Tony’s always known Steve is gorgeous- he can’t _not_ notice, he never didn’t notice the dip of his collarbones, the sweep of his calves, the tilt of his chin. But with him half-naked and standing in front of him with that bare, hungry look in his eyes, he’s never looked more beautiful.

Steve’s hand goes down to skim along the bottom of Tony’s shirt. “Now you,” he says, his voice low and curled.

Tony shouldn’t be nervous. He’s had sex shitloads of times- more times than he remembers, actually- so he shouldn’t be nervous, it’s just sex.

Even in his hazy state of mind, he knows that that’s bullshit.

“Yep,” Tony says, and almost rips the buttons trying to get them undone, before shrugging the shirt off of his shoulders and throwing it into the corner.

Steve’s gaze rakes up and down before he- _fucking hell_ \- gets to his knees.

Tony’s voice is strangled as he says, “Fuck, Steve, you don’t have to-”

“Tony,” Steve says, his lips against his ribs. “Shut up.”

Tony shuts up, and he feels Steve smile against his skin.

Steve kisses along Tony’s stomach, before moving down to his left hipbone, his tongue moving in lazy circles. He sucks a mark onto the top of Tony’s hip, and Tony’s watching all of this, entranced.

When his mouth moves down to Tony’s jeans, Tony sucks in a sharp breath.

Steve presses his palm against Tony’s denim-clad cock, which is straining half-painfully against his jeans, making him swears loudly. “ _Fuck_ , you’re going to be the death of me.”

Steve freezes, and Tony realizes what he’s just said- _bad choice of words, Stark_ \- before Steve’s surging up and kissing him desperately, like he’s dying for it, like this might be the last time they’ll ever get the chance-

Before he knows what he’s doing, Tony has his hands around Steve’s waist and he’s shoving them both forwards so Steve falls onto the bed. Tony crawls on top of him, still kissing, tongues brushing, and grinds his hips down onto Steve’s cock.

Steve makes a cut-off choked noise and moves to meet Tony’s thrusts, moaning loud and long when Tony’s hand goes down his jeans to grip his cock, running his hand along its length.

Steve’s mouth falls open. “Jesus, _Tony_ , you-”

Tony kisses him to shut him up, he kisses him so he doesn’t slip up and reply, he kisses him because he wants to kiss him and he’s wanted to kiss him for over a year and he probably won’t have another chance.

Steve’s hand goes to Tony’s belt, and slips it through the loops before sliding it off completely, and his deft fingers make quick work of the button and the zip. He yanks Tony’s jeans and underwear down at the same time, and Tony shudders at the shock of air on his over-sensitive cock.

He hears Steve swear below him, and Tony doesn’t waste any time shoving his jeans and briefs down, too, over his knees and then they both realize that they haven’t taken their fucking shoes off yet.

They grin at each other, struck by the stupidity of it, and Steve laughs as Tony toes off his own shoes, then his pants, before taking Steve’s off, too.

Then they’re both naked, in more ways than one, and Steve’s stopped laughing and Tony’s straddling him, their cocks red and pressing obscenely against their stomachs.

“Fuck,” Steve says softly, and Tony smiles crookedly down at him.

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Steve’s reply gets cut off by a surprised shout as Tony’s hand closes around him again, pumping him several times while Steve just trembles beneath him.

“Tony,” he whimpers. “Tony, fuck, _Tony_ -”

It’s almost too much, Tony thinks, watching Steve’s mouth go slack and pre-come pearl at the head of his cock as Tony rubs his thumb over it, watching it flush.

“Not yet,” Steve manages. “Not- I want-” he looks at Tony in the eyes, his blush burning his cheeks. “Could- could you fuck me?”

Tony’s cock jerks, and Steve tries to laugh but fails miserably. “So that’s a yes?”

“Yeah,” Tony chokes. “Yeah. I- yeah.” He leans over to the draw where he knows the lube is, and fumbles around for a few seconds before emerging with the half-empty tube, and Steve stares at it with- recognition?

Steve notices Tony’s frown. “What? Still a virgin. Doesn’t count if it’s my fingers, right?”

Tony’s mouth goes dry, imagining it: Steve with his legs spread, angling his hips so he can get his fingers in deeper, his cock bouncing as he pushes down onto them-

“If you don’t get your fingers inside me right now,” Steve pants, thrusting upwards, “I swear to god I’ll start without you.”

“Pushy,” Tony says, resisting the urge to just jerk himself off right here to the sight of Steve craning his hips up towards him. He squeezes lube onto a finger, before Steve says, “Two,” and Tony can’t even bother holding back on a groan at this point.

Tony rubs the lube over his fingers, before lowering them to Steve’s hole and circling slightly, watching Steve’s face before pushing in.

Steve _keens_ , shoving back into them, and Tony’s entire arm is shaking, his cock leaking pre-come down his stomach.

Tony fucks Steve on his fingers for a while, loving how Steve gives himself over, sweating, his hands fisting into the sheets as he moans shamelessly.

Finally, when Steve’s mostly incoherent and he’s fluttering around Tony’s fingers, Tony lines himself up. Steve watches him, and Tony keeps eye contact as he slowly pushes inside.

Steve’s head falls back onto the pillow, his fingers clenched in the sheets, his mouth hanging open slackly, and Tony lets the sight soak in before he pulls out and pushes in again, his hands bruising Steve’s hips.

This time, Steve shudders, and a moan vibrates up his throat. He reaches up and twines a hand around Tony’s neck before dragging him down into a kiss, thrusting his hips so Tony’s cock slips deeper.

“I love you,” Steve gasps against his mouth.

“Love you,” Tony says back, hyper-aware of the sweat on the back of his neck, how his legs are hooked around Steve’s waist, how Steve’s hands have come up to cup Tony’s ass, squeezing slightly.

Tony shakes as he pushes in again, and one of Steve’s hands comes up to press against the arc reactor, the blue light fuzzing around his fingers.

Tony presses closer, and Steve’s hand goes to his shoulder so they push together entirely, their bodies sweaty and hot and entirely each other, thrusting in unison.

“I-” Steve’s body goes taut, and then he’s coming, clenching down around Tony’s cock, and Tony thrusts twice before he’s coming, too, and it’s intense and it’s _Steve_ and Tony never wants to come down from this, never wants to leave Steve’s arms, wants to stay here as the dimensions collide like broken glass and it’d be worth it, wouldn’t it, to stay with Steve-

 

 

 

 

**One day until:**

From the first moment Steve opens his eyes, he knows he’s dreaming.

He knows he’s dreaming because Peggy Carter is standing in front of him, red lips and brown curls and as beautiful as ever.

She says, “Hello, Steve.”

Steve’s mouth works silently for a few seconds before he says, “Hey, Peggy.”

She smiles, and it hurts like he always thought it would. “Heard you caught yourself a bloke. Good on you, I guess. Howard’s kid, right?”

Her eyes aren’t the same. Peggy’s eyes were brown, this woman’s eyes are a soft pink, like-

“You’re not Peggy,” Steve says.

The woman doesn’t stiffen like he expects her to. Instead, she smiles again, and he watches her teeth sharpen to a point, and then multiply, and her hair turns the colour of molten rock and twists down her shoulders, and-

“Hey, Aphrodite.”

The god’s smile is sad, now. “Hello, Captain. Steve. You prefer Steve, yes?”

Steve says, “Yeah.”

He looks around- the floorboards are wet, but he’s not sure with what. He remembers this, vaguely: it’s one of his old bedrooms from the 40s. The room he had stayed in that one night when he had been nine and his dad had skipped out on his mother again. “Is this real?”

“Possibly,” Aphrodite says. “I haven’t decided on that yet. I think it’s one of the in-between realms. This, too, will fall apart.”

Steve swallows, his hands balling into fists. “There’s no way to stop it, is there? Tony… dying, I mean. To save the dimensions.”

Again, the old, sad smile, and Steve remembers again: she’s a god.

She has seen destruction, and terror, and mothers cradling their children, and brothers closing their sister’s unblinking eyes, and lightning striking twice, and so many impossible, magnificent things, and she’s smiling that sad smile that has seen so many, many things.

“I am sure,” she says, with that sad smile, “That you will try.”

Steve says, “I will.”

She says, “Will you miss him?”

Steve’s head whips up. “More than you know.”

“I have known many sufferings,” She replies. “And several as cruel and as deep as this. Several as terrible as the sun being taken away from the moon. For Tony is the sun, is he not?”

Steve remembers: Tony laughing, Tony walking into a room and everyone staring, Tony grinning, Tony in the Iron Man suit, streaking past-

“You are both suns, in your own rights,” she continues softly. “But it matters not. No matter which of you is the sun, then the other is the moon. You gravitate towards each other. You drag each other along in your destructive path. If you did not end up in the ice, then he would have woven a way back to you.”

She takes a step forwards, the floorboards not creaking even though Steve remembers them doing so at every slight change of weight. “You Migardians- you are so much _more_ , you are more than mere hands. If Tony is the blue heart, then you are a ribcage. If you are the past, he is the future. You are so much _more_ than the stories they tell.”

A muscle flickers in Steve’s jaw. “Why are you here?”

Again, the sad smile, and it parts over her teeth, and Steve finally lets himself stare.

“To answer your question,” she says, “Let me counteract with another question.”

She closes the gap between them and leans in, her mouth against his ear. “Why,” she whispers, “do you think that the ultimate personification of love- has shark teeth?”

She pulls back, and Steve stares as she dissolves along with the dream.

When he wakes up, he’s alone.

-

“Hey, so,” Tony says, swinging down the steps. “How the flying fuck do I get to Yggdrasil?”

Apollo glances up. “Excuse me?”

“Yggdrasil,” Tony repeats. “That tree thing that Loki fucked up? Key to solving this thing? The thing I probably have to fling myself into to save the universe?”

“I am aware what it is,” Apollo says. “But I know not of how to get there, Tony Stark.”

Tony sighs. “Great. Who does?”

“No,” Apollo says. “That was not what I meant- you do not need to know where to go, Tony Stark. Yggdrasil will come to you.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony nods. “And… okay, no, what?”

“The prophecy states that an hour before the dimensions start to pour into each other,” Apollo says, “The world tree will come to the person who can save it, which would be the blue heart, which is you.”

“Ah,” Tony says. “So do I just- chuck myself in, or?”

“I know not,” Apollo says. “I know not of why it needs you, either- probably something to do with the arc reactor, I am guessing.”

Tony glances down to where it’s glowing through his shirt. “Awesome. Couldn’t I just fling one of those in there, then?”

Apollo frowns. “Yggdrasil is a very spiritual creature. It will always demand the soul of a being, it- nourishes it, I believe.”

“Uh,” Tony says. “This is a _tree_ we’re talking about, you know that, right?”

“I am aware,” Apollo says, sounding irritated. “A sentient tree would not be the strangest thing you have seen in your years, I am guessing.”

“You’d guess right,” Tony says, and grabs his jacket, sliding his arms into it as he walks away, trying not to remember how he had slid his shirt off just like this a few hours ago, with Steve standing fervently in front of him.

“Tony Stark,” Apollo calls after him, and Tony stops.

“Yeah?”

Apollo pauses. “Would you- would you not want to spend your last living hours with the ones you care for?”

Tony’s throat clicks. “I, uh.” He rubs at the back of his head, his thumb rubbing absently over the mark that Steve had made. “I don’t think I’m up to that, nah.”

Apollo nods. “Very well. It was an honour to know you, Tony Stark, as brief as our meeting was.”

Tony gives him a half-salute with two fingers, and walks out.

-

Loki dips his fingers into the water and watches it separate around his fingers. It twines around them, like ribbons of silk, before twisting away.

“Aphrodite,” he says as he stands. “You have been absent a long while.”

“I have been otherwise occupied,” she replies. “Other people’s minds call to me. Migardians are… magnificent creatures, are they not?”

“I see nothing special about them,” Loki sniffs, standing.

She says, “That is where you and I differ, Silvertongue.”

Loki sticks his tongue out at her, flashing silver, an old thing that he used to do when they were childling together.

She laughs, and her eyes spark a silky black. “See? Things have not changed where it is important, old friend.”

“Yes,” Loki says, coming to stand beside her to watch the lake. “You are still full to the brim with vague messages that matter not.”

“What matters do you speak of, Loki?”

He smiles. “I think that may be the first time you have used my real name in centuries.”

She smiles back, and Loki feels a burst of comfort at the usual flash of teeth. “You have had many names, but I have always preferred Silvertongue.”

“Much to my disapproval,” Loki sighs. “The matter which I speak of is you repeating for me to understand.”

She blinks. “And do you?”

“Understand _what_ ,” Loki says. “You have told me nothing of which to understand.”

She is quiet for a few moments. Then, “You have blocked out his voice.”

Loki jerks. “Yes. I- his voice is jarring.”

“His voice is home,” Aphrodite says. “You miss it too much to bear.”

Loki grits his teeth, and his concentrations slips, and Thor’s voice rings out across the valley again:

“- _oices will sing in the blue_

_They will scoop you up so li-”_

Loki digs his fingernails into his head until it burns, and the voices fade out again.

Aphrodite puts a hand on his shoulder.

“If you ask me if I _understand_ ,” Loki snaps, “I will banish you from my head.”

“I have no doubt, old friend,” she replies tenderly. “But it is vital that you must.”

“Understand? Understand what? What,” Loki spits, advancing on her, “Is so important for me to comprehend?”

She just smiles, and Loki howls, raising a hand to strike her.

It’s then that he notices it:

His hand is blue.

His breathing shallows, and he brings his other hand up- they’re both blue, as are his arms, and his legs, and-

He rushes to the lake and gets to his knees, and his reflection shows his blue face, carved with the ornate markings of a frost giant.

He gets to his feet. “Why-”

-

“Migardian!”

Coulson glances up to where Apollo is outright running at him.

“Migardian,” Apollo yells again, and slams to a stop in front of him, panting. “You are of the shield, yes?”

“I’m an agent of SHIELD,” Coulson nods. “What happened?”

Apollo pauses to gulp in some air. “Ah, being mortal makes me weary-” he stands upright, and its then that Coulson notices the scrolls under his arm.

“The prophecy-”

“I may have made a mistake,” Apollo blurts. “Tony Stark may not have to die. It seems that I may have mistranslated the last word with-”

“Keep it short and sweet,” Coulson snaps, and Apollo grimaces.

“I, uh. It turns out that there are two blue hearts, and I may have gotten one confused with-”

Coulson barks into his comm, “Get Stark on the line.”

-

“Cap! Where’s Stark?”

“Tony? I don’t know, I thought-”

“He’s not answering his comm, it’s urgent.”

“I- what happened?”

“Turns out the Greek god is a dipshit and mistranslated the last line. Tony doesn’t have to die. Cap? Cap! Earth to-

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Are you sure?”

“Unless Apollo fucked it up again, yeah.”

“Are you 100% sure?”

“I just said-”

“I can’t get my hopes up again, Clint. Are you _sure_?”

“…Pretty sure, Cap. Let’s go Stark-hunting.”

-

The sky’s breaking.

It’s a weird sight to see, and Tony’s seen a lot of crazy shit.

He wanders the streets for a while, staying clear of all the screaming citizens, and remembers those bullshit textbooks: _if you had less than a day to live, what would you do?_

 _Hole everyone out, apparently,_ Tony thinks to himself.

The comm buzzes again in his pocket.

He ignores it.

 

 

 

 

**Now:**

Loki says, “Why am I-”

Aphrodite smiles. “A frost giant in your head? Like I told you before, Silvertongue: think _wider_. Back to Yggdrasil. Back to when we were childlings, and your father used to tell us the stories-”

Loki is panting. His hands are braced against each other, and he can see the sides of this world fraying at the corners.

He glances at Aphrodite at the wrong time, and feels the familiar _click_ -

He feels. He feels the sharp bite of her teeth, teasing when they were childlings and rolling around in the dirt while others were playing with wooden swords. He feels himself confiding in her because she was always much too _something_ than the other kids, too smart, too cunning, too dangerous, like him.

He feels the strong grip of Thor’s hand as they had jumped off of the waterfall, how they had landed and Thor had cracked his head on a rock. The first taste of venison, his first kiss, the harsh press of lips, the bitter clatter of porcelain. He feels himself falling, with Thor’s anguished scream following him-

He feels Yggdrasil. He feels the blunt weight of its roots, how it had stooped down to stroke his weary brow. How it hadn’t screamed when he had sliced into it; how it had instead sighed, like it was as tired as he was.

He feels the slow creep of poison in his system.

-

The world is turning to shit outside the window.

_“Tony, you need to-”_

From here, he can see sky. From here, he can watch it end. He can watch their sky dissolve into dozens of different skies, watch it bleed and crack and finally shatter, from right where he’s sitting, with his knees pressed into the concrete.

And Steve, always Steve, Steve here at the end of the world, because of _course_ -

-

“He has it turned on, but he won’t answer,” Steve says. “Check over there, he used to-”

-

“I- I-”

Aphrodite bends closer. There are tears in her eyes, Loki notices.

She says, “Do you understand now, Silvertongue?”

-

Thor should be out there.

Thor _should_ be out there, helping civilians, helping them find Tony, find the other blue heart, wherever-

“Brother.”

Thor’s head whips around, and Loki’s staring up at him.

“Brother,” Thor breathes. “I was beginning to think-”

“You though wrong,” Loki murmurs. “Have they stopped it yet? Is the universe still again?”

Thor swallows. “No. Loki, of your doing, the universe is going to end, brother-”

“Not likely.” Loki sits up slowly, wincing. He bends forwards, and cups Thor’s face in his hand, bringing it up and pressing his lips against his forehead.

Thor frowns. “Loki, what are you-”

Loki smiles almost sweetly, and Thor remembers like a gut-punch the times at the lake when they were childlings.

Loki says, “Goodbye, brother,” and then he’s gone.

-

It’s been eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds since the comm has cut off, and Tony’s getting impatient.

“Jeez,” he says to himself. “Wouldn’t expect a magical tree to be late.” He chuckles lowly. “Fuck, if I live, I am so winning that fucking contest for the weirdest shit we’ve said.”

“Hate to burst your bubble,” Clint says from the doorway, “But I’ve said stranger shit.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Bull.”

“’Fraid not,” Clint shrugs. “I once fou-”

“Not the time, Clint,” Steve snaps, advancing on Tony until he has his arms wrapped around him.

From the window, Natasha snaps her fingers. “Oi, enough with the nookie. We’ve got a universe to save, and about an hour to do it in.”

“Oh, we’ve never done _that_ before,” Tony says, his voice muffled in Steve’s chest. “I thought I was-”

“Yeah,” Steve says, pulling back. “Turns out Apollo’s an idiot.”

-

Yggdrasil doesn’t have a voice- not a corporal one, anyway, but it thrums through Loki like a heartbeat:

_Welcome home, Silvertongue._

Loki closes his eyes, and lets himself fall again.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would not be possible without 'i-believe-in-agent-coulson,' AKA Allie, for listening to me rant for six hours straight, and coming up with some of the best ideas.
> 
> Find me here at my [tumblr.](http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com)


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